IN THE MIDDLE OF A flat grey wasteland, under a grey streaky sky, a handful of figures warm themselves at a snapping fire. “Hey! What are you doing?” One of the figures has turned to gape across the waste: a…
Category: Writ
My own serious stuff; the craft itself; literary (and authorial) inspiration; the art of reading.
Prosatio Silban and the Plain Truth
EVEN WHEN HOSPITALITY PROFFESSIONALS ARE “off the clock,” their discourse – like that of the other trades – can’t help but revolve around their livelihoods. “How’s this for a topic?” asked Piriforma Syndro, head chef at epicurean Pormaris’ renowned Diamond…
Prosatio Silban and the Secondhand Saga
IT IS A LONG-SAID saying, and with good reason: “Workers are only as good as their tools.” Prosatio Silban lifted down yet another old pot from the galleywagon’s ceiling-mounted rack, placed it among its fellows in an empty durian-crate, dropped…
Prosatio Silban and the Perfect Colleague
TRYING TO HOLD A CANDLE to someone else is the quickest way to extinguish your own flickering flame. “And then the High Sacreant herself complimented me on yet another job well done,” Egotio Nys said, lifting his expensive drink and…
Prosatio Silban and the Blank Tyranny
ARTISTRY IN ONE ARENA DOES not always guarantee artistry in another. “My proposal is a simple one,” the young man said. “Grant your endorsement, in a few choice words, of my latest cookbook, New Tastes of Pormaris. It is a…
Prosatio Silban and the Free Lunch
IF SOMETHING COMES FROM NOTHING, is it worth the price? Prosatio Silban sighed, and not for the first time that day. How did I come to this? he asked himself. I used to be more thrifty with my pantry and…
Ozone; or, The Horror Upstairs
WHEN A MAN HAS GIVEN his life to science, even to the naked edge of that science, he is expected to be vocal about it. And if others choose not to listen, well … perhaps they won’t have the nightmares,…
Stellar Blues
do the stars know the names by which we call them? we, the hubristic and temporary, label the unthinkably ancient with quick mouth sounds and fading pen-scratches. will they mourn when we are gone? would they say: “nice try, two-legs;…
Prosatio Silban and the Proxy Diner
SOMETIMES, “HUNGER” IS JUST ANOTHER word for “desperation.” Prosatio Silban heaved a sigh and pondered his bleak future. How does this keep happening? he asked himself. How do my circumstances seem to always drop so low? To be fair, it…
For Franz Kafka
THE OLD WOMAN SAT, SOFTLY singing, on a blue wooden chair in the vast cobbled square, rippling a carpet of birds with each cast of her seedful hand. Tall jagged buildings loomed on all four sides — blocky and black-windowed,…
Act of Greed
“THANK YOU FOR CALLING Total Auto, may I help you?” “Yes, my car was swept away in the recent floods, and I would like to file a claim.” “I’m sorry sir, but flood coverage isn’t included in any of our…
A Farewell to Mars
On and for the 54th anniversary of “Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed.” AS HE DANGLED FROM THE upper corner of the window before my typewriter, inverted and scowling, I first saw the Man from Mars. His identity was…